Braves Game On August 20, 2011 I went to an Atlanta Braves baseball game. When I found out I was going to the game I was excited to go to the game and wanted to go sooner. The night before the Baseball game I stayed up until 1 o’clock in the morning so I could sleep all the way to Atlanta. I got up at eight o’clock the next morning to get all the stuff we needed for the game like a baseball glove, drinks, and stuff. We left around 9 and stopped at the Wal-Mart in Eatonton to get a soft sided cooler because they wouldn’t let you in the stadium with a normal one so once we got the cooler and some more drinks.
He had gone out fully dressed with his overcoat and a copy of The Times under his arm, hailed a cab and forgotten where he was going and forgotten where he lived. The cabbie dropped him at West Hampstead police station where they identified him from his Barclaycard. (Sacks, 2007) Back home 2 doctors visited and concluded that Clive was suffering from a severe bout of flu that was doing the rounds in North London. His condition worsened and he was rushed to St. Mary's Hospital where doctors realized that Clive's brain was being attacked by the herpes simplex or cold sore virus. Very rarely this virus can cross the blood-brain barrier and cause encephalitis or inflammation of the brain.
I have now been in front line for just over a week. The smell out here in these trenches is so bad it has made our toughest men sick. The smell is so vile I can’t even describe it over a letter. To give you a an idea of what the men out here have to contend with, there is raw sewage from an open cesspit; body odour from men who haven’t washed in ages; dead bodies decaying in shallow graves, also they are out in the open in no man’s land. The smell of dead rotten bodies attracts rats.
Thinking that this two men though the front door facing Clark Street. This pair, riding in the Cadillac, carried Thompson sub-machine guns, a 20-round magazine for one and a 50-round drum for the other. To aide in their escape, the men in street clothes came out with their hands up, prodded by the two uniformed cops. The only ones left alive were John May's German shepherd, Highball, and Frank Gusenberg who, despite fourteen bullet wounds, was still boarders, C.L. McAllister, to the garage to see what was going on.
They are sent a prison war camp while enduring the vicious train ride. There were no bathrooms in the ride so they have to endure the filth, and stench marinating in the train; death also filled the air. They
Insidious Disease: Police Brutality Knock, Knock. The police are going door to door, looking for a rape suspect. They knock on the door next to yours: a quiet, legal African American immigrant’s home. He answers, and reaches into his jacket to retrieve his wallet to show his identification to the officers. At the moment, the four policemen open fire forty-one times on the man, and he drops dead.
The drunk driver ran the red light and hit Jamel’s truck on the driver side. Jamel was still alive though, grasping for air and in shock all at the same time, he managed to crawl out the passenger door. Jamel laid in the snow for approximately ten minutes until the ambulance came. There was no snow within a ten foot radius around Jamel, but there was a colossal puddle of blood. The ambulance arrived to the accident too late to save Jamel.
“Guess I’ll finish this tomorrow; hey, I wonder where that old guy went?” He looked around as he loaded his tools into the wheelbarrow and pushed it back to the house. His father met him inside with a cold glass of lemonade; it tasted cold and sweet and was just the thing he needed, after his morning labor. “Dad,” he said, “have you ever seen the cemetery so empty as today?” “What do you mean?” His father replied. “I saw plenty of people around; it’s just as busy as always. How far did you get before the rain started, son?” “Uh, I got about half of the front and right sides cleared.” He took a long drink of the lemonade and watched his Dad laying out some lasagna noodles in the bottom of a glass casserole dish.
There was a distorting smell, a smell of dead men. Lying around for days, their clothes drenched in blood, and blood formed beside them which made a small pool. One soldier’s eyes where staring directly at me as if to say, “Run away and save yourself!” Then I saw a big, fat, ugly, beefy black rat, feeding on its prey, eating and peeling away the meaty flesh. The Sergeant ordered me to pick up the body. The soldiers pulled a wagon and they flung the lifeless body on to it, as if the body had no use anymore.
They were already acquainted with the boy and he went happily with them on that May afternoon. They drove him to within a few blocks of the Franks residence in Hyde Park then suddenly grabbed him, stuffed a gag in his mouth and smashed his skull four times with a chisel. He fell to the floor and bled to death in the car. When the brief bit of excitement was over, Leopold and Loeb casually drove away, stopped for lunch and then ended up near a culvert along the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks. After dunking the boy’s head underwater to make sure that he was dead, they poured acid on his face (so that he would be hard to identify) then stuffed his body into a drainpipe.